The State of Grace
by Chet Gecko
Summary: "I'm still a ha'ole. My dad is still a cop. And my mom killed herself. Most kids just leave me alone." Futurefic, Grace Williams perspective. Language/suicide past/cutting and the guys are together.
1. Chapter 1

Speaking of letters I never found, you never left me one.

Never sent me one. Never left me a note or a sign.

As I boxed and gave away your clothes and packed up the apartment.

I kept thinking I would find something. All last fall

My breath arrived each day with the mail.

- Taylor Mali, For the Life of Me

**The State of Grace**

I feel like I'm dancing on dynamite as I move through the house. Dad and Steve watch my every move, every grade, every text, every breath. They are afraid I'll be like her and they will miss a sign or a clue. Every morning I rush out the door, avoiding eye-contact with either of them and run full tilt the six blocks to catch a public bus to school. I would rather wedge myself into a crowd of caffeine crazed commuters and sunscreen drenched tourists than ride alone in a car with my dad. The volume on my iPod doesn't go up loud enough to drown out the unspoken accusations and questions his expression screams at me across the silent space between us. The conversations we need to have just cannot be contained in 20 minutes between home and school .

Today waves of diesel exhaust wash over me with the sea air through an open window on the bus. It is marginally better than drowning in the cologne of the corpulent businessman standing over me in the aisle. The squirrelly kid behind me keeps bouncing his legs and kicking the back of my seat while his mom talks on her cell phone, voice raised to project over the ambient noise, to someone named Carolyn about poopy diapers and vomit and diarrhea in all too graphic terms. The sensory overload presses in on me closer than tropical humidity before a rain. The major-grade test waiting for me in third period AP English has the tide of nausea rising bitterly in my throat. It is almost enough to make me wish I had ridden with dad. Almost.

There is a familiar tingle along the scar on my left thigh reminding me of the razor blade I keep wrapped in a panty liner in my backpack with a few other toiletries. No security guard will search too thoroughly through a woman's feminine hygiene products looking for a weapon, as least not at this high school. The blade is my back-up plan. If the day gets to be too much pain helps me cope. Sounds bad, I know, but it works. I'm not her. I don't want to die I just don't know any other way to live.

It is easier to blend in at public high school than the private schools my step-dad sent me to. I don't miss it, or him either. Here I can pass off sophomoric crap as an English essay or argue revisionist fascist nonsense in World History and still get an A. Here there are no uniforms, no dress code. I wear long sleeved t-shirts and board shorts. No one asks me why. They assume I'm a surfer. My naturally dark brown hair has bleached blonde streaks in it from the year-round sun so the persona fits if you don't look at me too closely. And they don't.

The bottom line is: I'm still a ha'ole. My dad is still a cop. And my mom killed herself.

Most kids in my grade just leave me alone.

I was the one who found her. Opened the bathroom door and looked right into my mother's vacant eyes staring up at me through bloody bathwater. I met Dad in the doorway of the apartment, covered in her blood, just minutes before the paramedics arrived. He thought I was bleeding, thought I was dying. And in a way I was; he was too. Maybe we still are. Death is like divorce, but this time Mom left us both. Permanently. This time it was Dad's partner who provided the six-pack of beer and talked him off the metaphorical ledge night after night, while I went to therapy twice a week. We packed up the apartment and moved the rest of my stuff in with him and Steve.

My step-dad is probably still in Indonesia or Malaysia somewhere inexplicably lobbying to build five star hotels for Eco-tourists. Haven't heard from him since the funeral. I was twelve when they divorced and blamed myself for it. Now I know among other things Mom was lonely. Stan treated marriage like a designer suit he wanted to wear only on special occasions when the clients came around. These days I blame him, if he wasn't such a shallow sonofabitch she might still be alive.

Fat guy gets off the bus at next to last stop. By the time we get to school I can breathe.

Laoshi zaoshanghao. Good Morning Teacher. First period Mandarin. Check.

Second period, Economics. "Review the Arab Spring of 2011 and its affect on the global economy, specifically the development of alternative energy technology in America." I should not have let Dad and Steve talk me into this impossible class schedule. Maybe I don't want to go to the Naval Academy after all. Maybe I'll just stay here, sell shave ice and go to community college.

The dreaded English exam involves analyzing sections of Burnt Norton from T.S. Eliot's _Four Quartets _in which he dissects the nature of time. "The still point of the turning world," of my turning world, to borrow his phrase, is the day my mom offed herself in our bathtub. That is the point which never changes for me. The counselors say she would want me to move on, to go on living. She didn't want to go on living herself why the fuck would she tell me to do the same? I can't seem to move past it or move around it. I will always be defined by "it" I have no answers for that essay question because the one who coud tell me the answers is gone "Humankind cannot bear very much reality" Eliot got that part right.

Focus, Gracie. You can do this. Write the essay the teacher wants to read. The one about Eliot blending Christian theology with allusions to Western literature and Eastern texts. "Garlic and sapphires in the mud," my ass.

My life resembles its own ecosystem or the global economy. I credit the Buddha or my beginner's understanding of Quantum Physics or even T. S. Eliot for this awareness. Whatever. Whomever. I just know I have to hold it together because if I don't my dad will freak. If he goes off the deep end, Steve will dive right off after him. And so on it goes into ever expanding concentric circles. Like the butterfly in the Amazon whose wings set off a hurricane on the other side of the world, my life is chaos theory in action. I'm the butterfly. There are a lot of people counting on me to be strong.

Fourth period Calculus. Numbers. Equations. Logic. Formulas. No emotion. Just reason. Compute the derivative of _y = f(x)_ with respect to _z. _Sixteen problems in 50 minutes. Piece of cake.

"Ms. Williams. You are needed in the counselors office. Take your things with you."

There is a pointedness to my math teacher's sotto voce tone that stabs directly into my gut and a forboding behind his eyes that makes my palms sweat.

This isn't about skipping school day before yesterday.

This is Something Else.

Nodding but not asking questions, I grab my backpack to I do as I'm told.

Coming around the corner to the school counselors office, my heart skips a beat and senses move to high alert. I'm a little surprised to see it is Kono not Dad or Steve waiting to pull me out of school. Threat assessment is a survival skill I learned from Danno that applies just as well to adolescence as to police work. Officer Kalakaua's shoulders are relaxed yet her overall stance is tense. Hair and clothes slightly askew as if she rushed to get here; her expression serious but not grave. One of my dads is in trouble, hurt possibly but not dead. Put on the emotional flak vest, Grace.

"Hi Kono. What up?" Keep the tone light, don't assume anything.

"Hey Gracie." Kono hugs me just a little too long and a bit too tightly. "There's been an accident – ."

Steady, girl. Breathe.

"- Your dad was on his way to meet us for lunch when an SUV blew through a red light and plowed into him. One of the LEO's recognized tags on what's left of the car and called 5-0. The new guy took Steve to the scene and I came to get you."

"What's left of the car? Is Dad ok? "

"He's a mess, but he's alive. We won't know anymore than until we get to the hospital. You good to go, honey? Got all your stuff?"

"Yeah. Sure. I got it. Let's go."

The closer we get to the hospital the more everything seems to happen in slow-motion, but without the sound distortion. I remember feeling this way when I was seven years old stumbling down the concourse at Newark International Airport through a torrent of heartbroken tears with Mom and Stan, away from Danno. Again when I was twelve and sniffling at my disheveled reflection in the side-mirror of the U-Haul as Mom drives us away from the big house to the apartment. And then at a week shy of fifteen, dry-eyed and numb as I watched the ambulance disappear down the block carrying the body of my mother.

"You know, Kono, you really can't call Detective Goshi 'the new guy' anymore. Its been years." She doesn't respond to my attempts at nervous small talk

Kono's phone beeps. I can see by the caller-ID that it's Steve. She transfers the call to her headset before I can hear what he has to say. The air is punctuated with a series of uh-huh's and all-right's. Bad must have just gone to worse because Kono steps on the accelerator. Panic wraps itself around me like the winter parka I wore as a little girl in New Jersey. Fight or flight instinct kicks in. I try focusing on the red and white Kukui High Marching Band button on the strap of the backpack nestled on the floor between my feet. _Trumpeters do it with Brass_

Flight wins. "Kono. Stop. I left my horn at school. We need to go back and get it. Now. Turn around."

"What? No, we'll go back later."

"Now, Kono. I really have to get my instrument. Please."

"Sweetie, they are prepping your dad for surgery. We should hurry." Kono does not take her eyes off the road.

"I need my trumpet." I need my Danno.

I didn't say goodbye to him this morning. I ducked out the door. I raged at him last night when he was hounding me about homework. What if the last thing I ever say to my father is not "I love you" but "Why can't you leave me the fuck alone?"

Come to think of it, the last thing my mother ever said to me actually was "I love you."

I know for a fact love does not conquer all, does not make up for all the blood, does not excuse her ducking out of my life forever with out leaving so much as a note. It has been almost two years I still want to scream at her "Why the fuck did you leave me?" At least I'm not alone.

Let it go, Grace. Focus on Danno, not Mom. The remainder of the drive to Queens Medical is spent convincing the part of me that wants to freak out or scream or cut to stand down while the rest of me repeats incessantly an inarticulate prayer.

_He's got to be ok. Please let Daddy be ok_

Chin intercepts us at the walkway between the hospital entrance and the parking garage.

"Steve called me. Canceled my classes and drove right over."

Makes perfect sense. Chin Ho Kelly may be teaching in Waipahu at the Academy these days but he is still 5-0, still ohana. He updates Kono and me on what is known: Danno has already been taken in to surgery;. The family waiting room is on the third floor but it is going to be a while; Side-curtain airbag deployed properly; Probably saved him; No head injury; His pelvis is crushed. Some internal bleeding and organ damage. Hospital staff has asked us to give blood for him. And directs us toward the lab.

Chin's wife is already there in a recliner, hooked up to tubes as a bag of blood fills at her side. Her hospital is on the other side of town. She must have flown or hit all the lights just right to get here before me and Kono. I suddenly have a Manga image in my head of Dr. Malia Kelly, Medical Superhero, white lab coat hooked about her neck as a cape, soaring above Oahu to resue the broken.

I'm seventeen, a minor, and don't have the "express written permission of a parent or guardian" to give blood. The nurse seriously tries to push this paperwork technicality on me when my father is upstairs fighting for his life. Dad and Steve's "immunity and means" in Hawaii apparently does not extend to the workings of the hospital blood bank. Clutching the backpack to my chest for stability like a life vest in case of water landing, I explain to the nurse as reasonably and calmly as I'm able that I've given blood before at school therefore there is precedent for parental permission. She is unimpressed.

"Please let her do this to help her dad." Kono attempts to intercede for me from where she is now bleeding out into a bag as well.

Just as I am about to burst from the pressure building up inside me, there are strong heavy hands on my shoulders. Exhaling breath I did not know I held I lean back into the arms of my surrogate father. Chin must have called for back up.

"You ok, Grace?" Steve strokes my arms and shoulders in soothing motion and kisses the crown of my head.

"Sign the form, please. They won't let me give blood for Danno." My voice is thin, barely above a whisper. I sound like I'm five. My chin even starts to quiver. Steve has always been able to walk right through any personal barriers I might put up like he is freaking Superman, not a retired Navy SEAL.

"Sure, Monkey." In one smooth motion Steve has me turned around and dropped my bag to the floor. I bury my face in his chest and hang on for dear life, willing the tears not to come. Over my head he instructs the nurses to give him the consent forms and set me up to give blood. "Its gonna be ok, Gracie. No matter what. He's going to be ok. Remember Danno loves you. I love you."

"But what if –?"

"Hush, baby. One thing at a time, you know that. You and Kono stay here and I'll go call your grandparents. Let them know what is going on. When you're done we'll go up to the third floor and wait for your dad together. All of us." Nodding in the direction of Chin and Malia who was now eating graham crackers and sipping on orange juice. "If there is any change, any news at all, I have the hospital pager. They will let us know right away."

"Wait! Wait, Steve. You are giving blood too, right? Stay with me. We gotta to do this together, for Danno."

"No, sweetie. I can't."

"I don't understand"

"It is against the rules for someone like me or your dad to give blood."

"What? Why? Because you're gay?"

"Something like that, Monkey. Its ok."

"No, it's not ok, it's ridiculous. You're clean. Dad's clean. You've been like old married folks practically since the day you met. What is the fucking big deal?"

"AIDS"

"Well, yeah, duh. Your point? I'm not stupid. Straight people get it too. Everybody's blood is tested for a bazillion things including HIV before they use any of it."

"It is just a regulation that hasn't been changed, baby."

"Well, it should have been! Gah, that is so antiquated." Raising my voice and gesticulating wildly, I am without a doubt my Danno's daughter. Anger and righteous indignation fueled by the already overwhelming emotions of helplessness and fear erupt from within me with volcanic force. "Screening questions are only as useful in weeding out potential bio-hazards as the honesty of the person answering them. The people who process donor blood are already making a humongous leap of faith in handling the blood anyway. And they are delusional if they think the answers to a few stupid questions offer them any real protection. Its not the words that keep them safe. I swear administrators came up with the idea just to cover their assess from lawsuits!"

"Grace. Monkey. Calm down." Again those hands are on my shoulders pulling me back into the moment, "You aren't going to change the world today. Right now we need to focus on Danno." Steve's strong arms envelope me, ground me, "I'll stay with you. Chin or Malia can go call Grandma and Grandpa."

"Ok. You're right. I'm sorry. Its just so wrong." Shoving my sleeve up my right arm I surrender to nurse and needle, "Let's do this."

The needle stings going in. Lying there, watching as blood flows steadily from my arm into the bag, I wonder why mom chose to cut, took the razor blade to her wrists, lengthwise, lying naked in the bathtub. No one could pretend it was an accident, that her hand just slipped while shaving her legs or something. She knew exactly what she was doing.

My head is starting to swim,"Steve, help me. I'm gonna be sick!"

Giving blood after just a cup of coffee and blueberry muffin for breakfast is really dumb. I have done this before. I should know better. At least there isn't much other than bile in my stomach to heave into the trashcan the nurse grabs for me. "Oh God, now the room is spinning. I'm gonna pass out."

"Breathe, Gracie. Focus. Look at me, sweetheart. Eyes open."

"ugh, just let me pass out."

A cool, damp washcloth applied to the nape of my neck pulls back the darkening curtain of unconsciousness. The buzzing sound that filled my ears fades until I'm shaky, but pretty much myself again. The same nurse who was such a stickler for protocol moments ago is now hovering over me like my fat old Hawaiian Auntie.

"You need to eat something, sweetie?"

She pronounces me sufficiently recovered to be plied with juice and snacks

"My lunch wasn't gonna be until after Calculus."

Steve insists that Kono go out to grab me a hamburger and fries.

"Veggie. Burger. Please."

Steve scowls. He and Danno think my being vegetarian is some sort of teenage rebellion. "You need meat, kid. Red meat. Kono, get her a real burger."

"Whatever, Commander." I smirk weakly at them both, "Nothin' with a face, Kono."

Soon the hospital pager in Steve's pocket vibrates like we're waiting at a restaurant on Friday night. Steve returns the call to the OR nurse's station. Steve abruptly strides off in the direction of the elevator without a word before he has even disconnected the call. Suddenly my hands are all thumbs. My cold feet have frozen to the floor. I am unable to pick up my bag or force my feet to follow him.

"GRACE!"

The force of his will alone pulls me toward the open elevator doors.

Steve says nothing but there is a wildness in his eyes that speaks volumes. The muscles in his jaw are clenched and his pulse is rapid in the vein on his temple.

"What – ?"

He raises a hand to silence me.

But I have to know, "He's – ?"

"No"

I slip my hand in his and lean a bit against his arm.

_Please let daddy be ok. he has got to be ok. Just let him be ok._

_

* * *

_

**A/N Never before attempted writing a story from first-person perspective. Wonder if it works. Also working on "show don't tell" idea that my writing instructor keeps bringing up. Feedback very much appreciated. **

**There is a video on YouTube of Taylor Mali performing the poem I quote at the top. He is perhaps most popular for his poem What Teacher's Make. Check him out. His use of words is just magical.**


	2. Chapter 2

I love you without knowing how, or when or from where

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride.

I love you because I know no other way

Than this: where I does not exist nor you.

So close that your hand on my chest is my hand

So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~ Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII

The State of Grace – Chapter Two

We are met on the third floor by a sinewy silver-haired gentleman in scrubs and cross-trainers who announces without preamble that the surgical team is concerned about damage to Danno's liver, spleen and kidneys. Further surgery may be needed in a few days to stabilize his pelvis otherwise the procedure was going well.

"Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. You're not done? He is still in surgery? What are you doing out here then? You're supposed to be in there, taking care of my dad!"

"Just listen to what the doctor has to say, Grace." Steve reaches for my arms. I tend to flail just a bit when I get excited.

"No, Steve. Let go of me." Shrugging off the hands this time, "You don't understand. He has to be in there for Dad. Danno's going to be fine because this guy is going to march back in to the operating room and finish the job. Right, Doc?" Vaguely aware of my babbling but unable to stop, "You're gonna fix his hips and his spleen and his whatever else you said is broken. And he'll be good as new."

"Grace, you need to be quiet."

"But –"

"I said stop. NOW"

He doesn't use the Navy Commander voice on me often.

"Yes, sir."

"You were saying, Doctor..."

"Once surgery is over Detective Williams will be in ICU at least over night, more likely a few days as a precaution where we can better keep tabs on how his organs are functioning. Even if all goes well there will still be extensive rehabilitation involved in his recovery. You're right, though, Miss. I do need to get back. Rest assured, young lady, we are taking good care of your father. The nurses will notify you as we move him to recovery. We will get you in to see him just as soon as we can."

Wow, was the patronizing physician seriously about to pat me on the head?

More hurry up and wait. Unlike the Zen Pitbull who is my father, I do not wait well though I can be tenacious.

I have lost my composure twice already today. Shit happens when you spiral out of control. Correction, shit is going to happen anyway and you can't dealt with it adequately if you are spiraling out of control. I have got to get a grip.

To that end I attempt a walking meditation for focus and calm that devolves in an embarrassingly short period of time into simply pacing the room. Not long after that I am marching back and forth like I'm on the football field at band practice. Which reminds me,

"I have to go back to school and get my horn."

Steve has cast his thousand yard stare out the window toward a point that looks to be somewhere past the parking lot toward Diamond Head. He is leaning on his arms bracketing the windowsill for support and makes no sign he has heard me.

"Hey, Steve. My trumpet. I left it in the band room. You know the jerk director is gonna dock my grade if it stays there over the weekend."

"C'mon, Steve." Annoyed at being ignored, I tug at his arm and try to turn him round to face me. "We could go now even, you know, and come right back."

"I'm not going anywhere."

The razor-sharp softness of his tone cuts off my teenaged selfishness.

Here I stand, fussing over my stupid horn while my father lies broken in an operating room. And his partner looks –

Well, this is new.

I can see Clark Kent staring out through Superman's eyes.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll call someone. I don't want to leave him either. I just hate being here. I hate this so much."

He shudders a sigh and scrubs his face with one hand, pulling me in for a bear hug with the other.

"You gonna be ok, Steve-o?" I reach up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

"I'll be fine. I just pray to God he is, too"

There is a buzz coming from Steve's shirt pocket. My heart stutters for just a second before my brain registers that it is not the hospital pager but his cell phone.

"Chin. Hi – No, nothing new yet – Should be out of surgery soon – You locate Danny's parents? – They're where?"

Chin has tracked down my grandparents at Lake Havasu, Arizona. Apparently Grandma and Grandpa didn't go to Florida this year like normal snowbird retirees from New Jersey.

"They're coming here? OK, you get them a flight – Ok, that's good – Yeah, thanks – Bye." At least the color is back in his face, "So Grace you'll go with Kono after Judo tomorrow to pick them up?" Said as a question but it is not.

"She'll go with me where?" Kono appears in the doorway with food. "Grace, I got you a veggie sub on wheat, no cheese, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper. Baked chips. Diet Coke with lemon. Boss, you get a double meat club sandwich on Italian herb and cheese."

"To the Airport to get Grandma and Grandpa. Thanks Kono."

"Thanks. The Williamses flight gets in about 5. Do you mind?"

"Nah, Boss, its fine." Kono passes out the napkins and sandwiches, "How you guys holding up?"

"Just getting a little stir crazy waiting to see Dad." I mumble through a mouth full of sandwich. "I think he's pretty freaked" indicating with my elbow toward Steve who takes his sub and soda back to the windowsill. "Ironic much? That it's not the Yakuza but some dumbass driver who takes down one of the invincible Five-0. How messed up is that?"

This isn't unfamiliar territory but it feels like I've never been here before.

"No kidding." Kono settles down at the table next to me and helps herself to my potato chips, "Hey, Steve, I talked to Goshi. Had the most pending stuff shifted to HPD so we don't lose momentum on the investigations. Governor's office green-lit them sending over another detective to help out while Danno is out"

"No need to do that..."

"Oh, yes there is. Your priority is Danno. You'll be worth next to nothing at work until he is better. Don't argue. You know I'm right. Josh and I can't run the department by ourselves. This way we will only be down one and a half crime fighting geniuses."

"You bucking for a promotion, Kalakaua?"

"No, Boss. The State couldn't pay me enough to do your job."

Three ravenous bites into my sub an orderly pops her head in the room. "Excuse me. You're the family of Daniel Williams? He is out of surgery. The doctor says you can see him now."

And there goes my appetite.

Dr. Cross-trainers is waiting outside ICU. He won't let us all go in at once, says he prefers one at a time for short visits to let dad rest. "Commander McGarrett, I'll update you and your daughter on Daniel's condition after you both have had some time with him."

"Sure, Doctor. Whatever you say. Thank you."

He directs us past the nurses' station to the sliding glass doors to Danny's room. The heaviness of Steve's hand on my shoulder now feels more like I am holding him up than his reassuring me.

Nothing in that bed looks like my dad. It is all tubes and monitors and bandages and traction. The steady beep of the heart monitor and the periodic hiss of the blood pressure cuff tell me all I need to know for now Dad is alive. I watch through the glass and let Steve go in first. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch him but there is almost no exposed part of Dad that isn't somehow bandaged or attached to something. Steve finally settles fingertips on Danno's forehead, caresses his unbruised cheek and pets his fingers slowly through dad's hair. I can't hear what Steve is saying but I see the wetness on his face from tears he does not pause to wipe away. Dad's eyes flutter open, and relief dawns on Steve's face like morning. He collapses his lanky frame into the bedside chair and bends his head close to Dad's; his lips still whispering something; his right hand never losing contact with that small bit of dad's skin; left hand lightly resting on the side rail. His eyes close as their lips touch. This is a moment of such intimacy that I turn my head, stare at the tiles in the floor.

A small movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention. The chair is empty. Steve is in the doorway. Frantically looking back toward Danno, our eyes meet and that wave of relief crashes over me too. Dad struggles to give me a weak smile, a wink and a raise of the eyebrows. His left arm is encased in a cast and his right is hooked up to monitors and IV's so the gesture he makes might either be the sign for "I Love you" or Shaka or both, I'm not sure. That's my Dad, the Accidental Hawaiian, reassuring me even from a bed in ICU. Crying and grinning like the village idiot I sign "I love you." right back at him.

"Your turn, Grace" Clark Kent is still there but now he looks more in control.

I stumble over myself in my rush to his bedside and land ungracefully in the unoccupied chair. "God, Danno...Daddy, you nearly... you could have.." I can't say the word.

"S'ok..."

"No, its not ok. I'm so stupid. I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I love you so much." Slipping my right arm up above the the pillow an gingerly touch my left hand down over his heart in an awkward embrace, I lean in for the first kiss I've given my father in a long time.

"Love you, Monkey." His speech sounds rough, gravelly like he's dehydrated, probably from the anesthesia, and labored, like it pains him to even think the words.

"You hurting?"

"Good drugs. Tired."

"I'll go then. I love you."

His eyes were already closed as I kissed him once more on the forehead.

Steve is already talking with the doctor whose real name seems to be Marc-something. The embroidered script on his white lab coat is half covered by a hospital ID badge I can't make out either.

It is Steve's glassy eyed expression that forces my attention to their conversation.

"Grace would be the most likely donor match – "

What exactly is he talking about me donating?

" – A lot will depend on how he responds to treatment. We have done what we can for now. Daniel's body will have to do the rest. Or we will be forced to consider a transplant."


	3. Chapter 3

At night when the stars light up my room,

I sit by myself talking to the moon, trying to get to you

in hopes you're on the other side talking to me too.

Oh am I a fool who sits alone talking to the moon?

Bruno Mars, _Talking to the Moon_

If I ever find that one prize worth any cost

I will rejoice, give thanks and remember:

In the time it takes to trade two letters

Love

turns to Loss

Corbet Dean, _A Collection of Crime Scenes_

The State of Grace – Chapter Three

I hold my tongue until Steve and I are alone in the car heading home. That is long enough. The emotional knot I'd tied at the end of my rope in order to hang on is slipping loose. "So, Dad needs a transplant."

"Not necessarily. That is the worst case scenario."

"The worst case is he dies."

"That's not gonna happen." He fires the comeback so quickly it sounds like doubt.

"You don't know that." I protest with more fire than I feel.

"There is some organ damage. Doctor wants us to be prepared. If it doesn't heal properly."

"I heard him mention my name. I'm probably a match, right?. There are only a few body parts I can spare so what's Dad gonna need? A kidney?"

"Liver"

"Sure, no problem. He can have part of mine. When do we do this?"

"Slow down. Gettin' ahead of yourself here. It is a risky procedure. We don't know you're a match and we don't know for sure he is gonna need it."

"It's my body, my choice. If he needs it, I'll give it to him."

"You couldn't even give a pint of blood this afternoon without my consent. You think you can just up and give an organ?"

"I'm just saying I'm willing to do it. Are you telling me you're not?"

"What I'm not willing to do is make that decision without all the pertinent information."

"It won't change my mind. I don't care about the risk."

"There is a chance you could die."

"Then there is also a chance I won't. Either way. Doesn't matter, I'm still giving Dad part of my stupid liver!"

"There is no point in talking about this right now." He flips on the radio which is Steve-speak for "end of discussion."

The bright blue sky has begun to fade. On clear days with nothing on the horizon to reflect light and color, there is no twilight to separate day and night. Within minutes we're left in moonless darkness lit only by the dim green glow of the dashboard lights.

"I can't lose you both." he says, once the car is off in the driveway and all is quiet.

"Me neither."

"Let's just do the research and wait to make that decision when – no, if – if the time comes."

I gather up my backpack. "I guess."

"Sorry about the trumpet. Mr. Peterson really gonna give you grief?

"Yeah, but whatever. I'll get a note from Danno's doctor."

"You do that." His chuckle is choked off in his throat as he reaches across the console to fold me up in his arms. "I love you, baby. Do me a favor. Grandma and Grandpa will be here tomorrow. Would you put clean sheets on Mary's bed? And clean up the toxic waste dump in your bathroom? I'm gonna head back to the hospital."

"You're not coming in." The realization feels like a gut punch. Exhaling forcefully I pop open the car door and start to get out.

"I just don't feel right leaving him there alone. Not tonight anyway. Will you be ok? You want me to get someone to come over to stay with you? I'll call Kono or Malia."

"I'm not five, Steven, I can stay by myself." I lean back in the car and pat him on the cheek for emphasis, "But thanks, I'll be fine. I love you too. When dad wakes up, you remind him I love him. All the way to heaven and back."

"Heaven and back. Got it. Call me if you need anything."

"I will. Text me when you get there."

I head into the house alone and gather fresh linens. It has been decades since Mary Ann McGarrett lived here. Long before my time. She blows through our lives from random corners of the world leaving pieces of herself in this room. Atop the dresser an Indonesian wood carving of the Buddha peaks out from between a Peruvian pan flute and a set of shot glasses from the Galapagos Islands. A Brazilian Christ still hangs on the cross above the bed and a Kamasutra inspired couple of undetermined origin copulates in the bookcase next to Emily Bronte and Judy Blume. Auntie Mare may not have a conventional rudder for her life but Steve is her Polaris and this room is true north. I rather envy her that anchor. It doesn't take long to change the sheets; dust the kitsch.

As a rule I avoid spending more time in the bathroom than is absolutely necessary. Let my hair air dry after a shower. Use the mirror in my room or forgo putting on makeup altogether. Armed with rubber gloves and Bob Marley blaring though my headphones, I rinse strands of hair and toothpaste residue from the sink, wipe down the toilet, hang the guest towels.

It doesn't matter that Mom was never in this room – was never quite comfortable enough with Dad and Steve to venture upstairs – some days her ghost lies bloody in my tub. I figure that is my own particular brand of PTSD. Tonight Danno is there when I pull back the shower curtain. Bones protruding through flesh, torso wrapped around twisted chunks of metal, glistening with beads of shattered glass, staring at me with dead blue eyes, irises blown bloody black. Panic hits me square in the chest and bears me to the floor. My head connects with the side of the toilet, launching lightning bolts through my temples . I clamp my eyes shut and breathe through the pain. It isn't real. Dad isn't here. Dad is alive. Dad is in the hospital. You're alright, Gracie. Just breathe.

_Every little thing is gonna be alright_. chirp Marley's three little birds. _Don't worry._

When the adrenaline flood recedes I chuck cleansers back under the sink and retreat down stairs, out the back door without stopping until I've run waist deep into the Pacific. I close my eyes again and rest there at the edge of my world, buoyed by the waves, arms wrapped tightly about my body. This is too much to bear alone. I thought I could do it. Be strong for Steve. For Dad. I wish there were other arms to hold me. I don't want to cut myself a new pain to make this one go away.

– Momma.

I need you.

Curling up in Steve's hammock on the lanai almost feels like a hug. Under a blanket of stars I talk to the "mom in the moon" as we used to call it on nights when we were apart. Finally I just listen to the reggae lullaby as the trade winds dry my tears and rock me to sleep.

_Little sister, don't shed no tears. I say, no woman, no cry. Everything is gonna be alright._

Startled awake, I flip out of the hammock and land on my butt in the grass. It's Kono honking from the driveway which means it's after 9 am and I've stayed out here all night.

All night.

Ohmygod, Danno.

I scramble back inside the house, scoop up my cell phone off the counter.

Four texts and three missed calls.

All from Steve.

Damn.

On autopilot I wave to Kono out front window.

Redial.

Straight to voice mail.

– Hey Steve. Sorry I missed your calls. I slept outside and didn't have my phone on me. I got the house cleaned up like you asked. Let me know if you need me to bring you anything. Kono and I can stop by the hospital between Judo and the airport. I love you. I hope everything is OK. Call me back, alright? Leave a message this time. Don't make me worry. Kiss Danno for me. Tell him I love him, K? Bye. –"

I yank a brush through my hair and tie it back in a ponytail, grab gym bag with Judo gi, scavenge a protein bar and apple out of the kitchen and house keys off the counter, and bound out the door.

"Mornin' Kono." I toss my bag in the backseat and reach for the white cup with the green siren in her outstretched hand, "Americano. soy, two raw sugars?"

"Yup. As requested. You sleep in your clothes, Gracie?"

"Uh, yeah. I kinda did. Fell asleep in the hammock"

"And swam in them from the looks of it. You're getting sand all over my seats. How's Danno?"

"Oh, sorry" quickly brushing off my shorts. "I dunno. Haven't heard from them. Yet. I left my phone inside. No news is good news? I hope. I mean, if he was dying Steve would have sent someone last night or called you to come get me."

"You're right, honey. There is probably nothing new to tell you. But are you up to this? We don't have to go."

"Nah, I'll be fine. The workout will do me good. Keep my mind off things."

I love that Kono doesn't require a lot of talking. She just pops in a CD and drives.


	4. Chapter 4

_EDITED 4/8 – This is actually the back half of chapter three. I've learned my lesson and am saving files more carefully now. Thanks to AriF for her beta-ness. If you find punctuation errors and such, they're mine because I went back in and dinked with this afterwards._

_Chapter four is in the works. See you back here in a week._

_Jennifer_

_"Chet Gecko"_

* * *

.

The Saturday morning workout at Shobukan Judo is a make-up class open to anyone who missed a regular one during the week which is me on a recurring basis during marching band season. I don't mind the mishmash of younger kids or lower belts. I like to mentor and they're eager to learn. The two other girls my own age however annoy the crap out of me. We used to be fast friends, the only girls in the dojo who stuck with Judo past puberty, but the second divorce and mom's suicide caused a paradigm shift in me that left hair and clothes and boys off the list of important stuff in life. Judo alone is not enough common ground to maintain a friendship.

Today they are fawning over a tall blonde boy about our age in a well-worn gi and brown belt. He appears unperturbed by their giggling and unmoved by their obvious plays for his attention which gets him points in my book. I have little patience for girls who play stupid or boys who would want them to. After formal bows and warm-ups Sensei introduces him as a visitor from a Judo club in Texas, setting off another round of inane tittering.

The twenty or so of us pair up to practice Kata Goruma and Koshi Goruma, shoulder wheel and hip wheel throws. Ten throws on each side, per judoka. I choose one of the younger girls, a couple belts below me and several inches shorter for my partner. She is rock solid and I have to work extra hard to get below her center of gravity to lift her off balance. Midway through the exercise I get the sense of someone staring at me.

"Psst, Hey. What's your name?"

The new guy and a skinny, green belt Korean boy whose name I don't remember have made their way over to our corner of the mat.

"I'm Jake." He announces between throws.

"Shhhh. We don't talk on the mat here."

I'm sweaty, plum-red in the face from exertion and there is sand from last night's swim chaffing like crazy under the edges of my sports bra and panties. I am not in the mood to chit chat with this guy behind Sensei's back in the middle of eighty throws no matter how intense blue his eyes are. They are probably colored contact lenses anyway.

"I'll be quiet. Just tell me your name."

"I'm Grace. Now hush."

"Pleasure to meet ya, Grace." He bows to me slightly then, in one fluid motion, steps in, sweeps his partner up over his back and down to the mat. "There!" he smirks, looking straight back at me, "Was that so difficult?" and gives a hand up to his bewildered opponent.

Oh for crying out loud. He just winked.

Distracted, I follow through on my next the throw a little harder than is absolutely necessary causing my partner to let out a pained yelp on impact with the mat.

"Sorry, sorry." It is my turn to help up a dazed opponent. The exchange has drawn the attention of the Sensei who moves closer to supervise our exercise, effectively stifling any further nonsense.

On the break I move to the sidelines and check my phone for messages. Nothing new to report, texts Steve. Dad's on heavy pain meds. Sleeping. Still in ICU. The sick, sinking feeling I'd been avoiding through exercise returns in spades. The others in the class are huddled around the new guy like he's a celebrity or Jesus. I overhear my name as I press through their crowd to get to the water fountain. A brief hush descends then chatting quickly resumes with a forced cheerfulness that tells me the subject was suddenly changed. They would rather talk about me than to me which is just fine. I don't have much to say to them anyway.

The remaining forty-five minutes is spent sparring. Randori is typically my favorite part of Judo class. Its like the shiai of competition without arm bars and choke holds. Today my mind is dull and mired in emotional quicksand. My body aches and twitches from lack of food and proper sleep. In the first round it is by dogged determination alone that I eventually pin my opponent and get the ippon. We fight two more rounds. In both she gets me off balance and throws me for the win.

Glad to be done I only want to strip off my obi, pack up my bag and get out the door to see Danno, but the new guy comes bounding up to me, all eager, looking like a six foot tall golden retriever.

"Yo, Grace. Wait up. You're serious about this stuff aren't you? You're really good."

"Yeah, I am. Serious. I mean. Thanks, uh, Jake – right? You're pretty hardcore too. Finding a workout on vacation."

"I'm not on vacation. I moved here a week ago. My dad got transferred."

"Oh. Welcome to Hawaii."

"Thanks."

"So you're from Texas. Dallas?"

"No, Austin. You go to McKinley?"

"Nah, Kukui."

"Aw, too bad."

"Grace, Got your stuff? Let's go." Kono has already changed into street clothes and is waiting by the exit.

"Coming! Just a sec."

"That your mom?"

"My auntie. Sort of. Look, I gotta go. It was nice to meet you." I pull a clean t-shirt on over my head, stuff the top of my gi into the gym bag and start to follow Kono out the door.

Jake falls into step beside me."You wanna show me around the island? Give me the kama'aina tour? Maybe stop for a shave ice or something?"

"No. I'm gonna be really busy for a while. I don't know when I'd have time. Ask someone else."

"Oh ok. See you around, I guess." He stops abruptly

"Wait, Jake." I turn just as suddenly and face-plant into his chest. "Oooff! – That came out wrong. I would like to see you. I just can't today. My dad was in an accident. He's in the hospital. In ICU. We're going to the airport to pick up my grandparents flying in from New Jersey...and -" I'm babbling again like I'm explaining myself to Steve or Dad.

"It's all good." He lays hands on my shoulders, steps back and holds me at arms length, "Another time then. Hope he's gonna be alright"

"Grace, honey. Sorry, we need to go" interrupts Kono from the other side of the car.

"Just a sec, Kono."

"Here, put your number in my phone. I'll call you later. See how y'all are doin' ."

"Sure." I input my name and number and hand it back.

"I'll talk to you soon, Grace – " looking down at the entry on his screen, " – Williams."

"That'd be nice, Jake –

" – Masters"

"Jake Masters."

I get in the car, buckle up and stare at him, just a little, as we drive away.

"So, you're going to wear that to get your grandparents?"

"What? What's wrong with this shirt?" Smoothing it a little and sniffing under the neckline, "I'ts clean!"

"Not the shirt, silly. I'm talking about the big fat I-met-a-boy smile on your face" Kono teases, "Haven't seen that in a while, girl. Its a good look on you."

"Hey, hey, hey. He's just new to the island. He asked me to show him around" I turn on my best innocent I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-talking-about-face.

"Whatever. But you do know your grandmother is going to have a conniption when she sees that shirt."

"You don't think Grandma is down with Mr. Zog's Sex Wax?"


	5. Chapter 5

This is about my own some-day daughter.

When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging,

"Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?"

I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer NO.

The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be,

and no child of mine will be contained in five letters.

You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing,

but you will never be merely "pretty"

_Katie Makkai, Pretty _

The bond that links your true family is not one of blood,  
but of respect and joy in each others life.  
Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.  
Richard Bach, _Illusions_

**The State of Grace, chapter five**

Kono makes a right out of the parking lot toward Queen's Medical. Flirting with a cute boy is not enough to distract me from my anxiety about Dad for very long though. Already my seat belt is the only thing preventing me from crawling right through the tempered glass windshield. I haven't spoken with Steve since he dropped me off at home last night. That is too long even when our family is not in crisis mode. The three of us touch base all the time. Just yesterday I would have said I resented the constant contact. Today I'm starting to feel lost without it.

"So, what do you know about organ donation?" Can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop myself blurting it out.

Kono doesn't take her eyes off the road.

"Whose – and which organs are we talking about here?"

"Mine. Liver."

"Why?"

"If Dad's doesn't heal, he'll need a transplant."

"That's a big IF, Grace. It's only been 24 hours."

"I probably match. I'd be the one to do it."

"You're getting ahead of yourself."

"That's what Steve said–"

I jump like I've been stung by a bee when the cell phone vibrates in my lap. It's a text message from Jake making sure I had given him my real number. I text back, _Yes, it's me. Call you later._

I finish, "I'm ready to do it though. I want to do it if that is what it takes. Anything for my dad. Or Steve."

"They know, but it may not be necessary. I'm sure the doctors are doing everything they can. Let's just wait and see, okay?"

I let the subject drop. She's right. No sense stressing about the future when there are so many variables to factor in. Ugh. I prefer things settled and decided. Too many options make me want to hurl, or hurl something through a window. The Shrink says I have composure issues.

Kono and I head directly for the third floor ICU where we can hear shouting before the elevator doors even open.

"Whaddya mean you can't talk to me? I'm his mother! Where is his doctor? I want to speak with someone in charge!"

I know that voice. "Ohmygod, they're here."

"Who's here?"

"My grandparents. That woman shouting? That's my grandmother."

"Can't be. They're not due in till this afternoon."

"Maybe not, but I'm telling you – that's her. C'mon!"

I grab Kono's arm and drag her down the corridor. Rounding the corner, we careen into a five-foot rock-solid New Jersey whirlwind, demanding to know details of Danno's condition and treatment.

"I'm sorry ma'am, you'll have to quiet down," begged the frazzled nurse, unsuccessfully directing my grandmother toward the side lounge.

"Grandma! Grandpa! You're here!" I flash my best thousand-watt smile and dive right in to diffuse the situation before the nurses or my Grandmother explode.

"Gracie-girl!" My grandfather pulls me into a crushing bear hug and explains, "Got the early flight out of Vegas. Your Grandmother insisted. Picked up a rental car and here we are."

"Wow. Uh, that's great."

"These people won't tell me a thing! I want to see my son," Grandma continues ranting in her piercing Jersey tones. "I insist they let me see my son."

"Let me check for you, Grandma. Sit over here, ok? Kono will tell you what we know so far. You want a cup of coffee?"

I lean down and kiss her on the cheek as Kono wraps an arm around my firebrand grandmother and guides her to the lounge.

"Grandpa, there's a coffee pot just around the corner by the water fountain."

That settled I return to offer apologies to the nurse and suss out the situation.

"Hey, sorry about my grandmother. I'm Grace Williams, Daniel Williams' daughter."

"I remember you from yesterday. Thanks. I didn't want to call security. She is a lively one. Just anxious about her son, but there are hospital procedures, you know? Your Dad is down for another CT scan. Commander McGarrett is with him. The doctor will have him back shortly."

Kono has Grandma sipping a glass of ice water and Grandpa is stirring a packet of creamer into his hospital coffee when I return. "Dad is fine, Grandma. Just having another test done. They'll have him back to his room in no time. Let's just wait here. We have to take turns going in to see him anyway."

"He should not be alone like this. My poor boy..." Her tone drops to a mournful wail.

"We haven't left him alone, Mrs. Williams," Kono interjects diplomatically. "HPD contacted 5-0 as soon as they realized it was Danny. Steve and Detective Goshi were at the scene almost immediately. Steve even rode with him in the ambulance."

"He needs his family."

"He is with family, Grandma," I remind her in a less-than-gentle tone. We have this discussion every time they visit.

"Well, yes. Yes, of course. I suppose so. Ohana and whatnot. But I mean his real family."

When I say nothing, Grandma shifts uncomfortably in her chair and changes the subject. "Let me get a look at you, young lady. You've definitely grown taller since we last saw you."

Forcibly holding my arms out from my sides, she spins me around like a doll. "What is this you're wearing?"

"Just a t-shirt, Grandma. Kono and I came from Judo." I pull free of her grip and cross my arms over the words Sex and Wax of Mr. Zog's logo on my chest.

"Is that really appropriate to wear in public? I don't suppose you had a chance to comb your hair. It would be so pretty if you pulled a brush through it from time to time."

She drops my hands and begins to root through her enormous canvas handbag. "Maybe a little make-up. At least some sunscreen. You'll be a wrinkled mess before you're thirty with all this sun."

This last bit is especially ironic and darkly amusing coming from a woman whose skin is tanned to leather from playing countless rounds of golf in the Arizona desert.

"Yes, Grandma. Of course I wear sunscreen."

"Well, I don't seem to have my comb. Please tell me you have something nice to wear to Mass."

"Mass?"

"Yes, Mass. Of course, Mass. Tomorrow is Sunday. "

"We don't really go."

Her face goes from ashen to nearly purple underneath the snowbird tan. Oh boy, here it comes. I think I just gave my grandmother a stroke. Bless me, Buddha, for I have sinned.

"Why, the idea! Your father never missed a service when he was a child, not even after he and your mother..." The agitation gives her voice an ever harsher edge. "Father Reardon would be horrified to know Daniel's daughter doesn't attend Mass."

"Leave the girl alone, dear." My Grandfather's voice is subtle but firm with the gravitas of forty-five years of marriage and nearly as long with the Trenton fire department behind it. "It's alright, Grace."

"No. Sure, we'll go, Grandma. 'Course I've got a dress."

The Church doesn't approve of Dad's divorce or Mom's suicide and continues to be seriously conflicted on him and Steve, gay or together. I'm not sure what she wants to accomplish by dragging me to Mass.

"Grace! Mr. and Mrs. Williams! You're here!"

Steve strides into the room from the hallway. He has on his PR face, the one he wears when talking to reporters, HPD or representatives from the Governor's office. Though crow's feet at the edge of his eyes belie the outward confidence and calm. I can see he is tired. And worried.

Grandma makes no reply. She is an awkward and less than subtle actress, feigning interest in stir-fry recipes on the cover of the hospital's two year old copy of Woman's Day magazine. She and Steve are two like magnets repelling. The both love Danno so much. Why can't she see that?

Grandpa however meets Steve in the middle, arms extended. He is all smiles as he pulls Steve into one of those manly hugs, clapping him on the shoulder with one hand while shaking hands with the other.

"How you holdin' up, son?"

"I'm good, sir. Danny is doing better too."

"Dad!" I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and bury my head in his back.

"Ooof! Hey, Gracie."

He turns around to face me. _Dad?_ – he mouths and cocks an eyebrow quizzically. Out loud he merely says, "You go on in. I'll get your grandparents up to speed on Danno's condition."

One more hug camouflages the "What brought that on? Be nice. We'll talk later" whispered in my ear.

Until this very moment, a tiny part of my stubborn heart clung to irrational hope until that yesterday would turn out to be a bad dream like the vision in the bathtub. I imagined I'd walk through the glass slider doors and Danno would be sitting up in bed laughing that I'd fallen for such an elaborate ruse. But such torturous jokes are never funny and my father is never cruel. So there he is, still all done up in traction, hooked to an IV drip and array of monitors and bandaged at every conceivable angle, just the same as when I saw him before save for the diamond sparkle back in his blue eyes today.

"Hi, Daddy. How're ya feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck."

"Duh. Newsflash, you were." Sarcastic banter is a reflex.

"Big truck."

"Yup."

"You ok, Monkey? Don't look like you've slept."

"I did. In the hammock. I'm fine. Hard workout at Judo today."

"Truth?"

He slides his casted arm closer and reaches out with his pinky finger to touch me. I melt.

"Truth."

I take his hand and settle down into the adjacent chair folding my legs up over the side like it's the arm chair in front of our TV.

"Don't waste your energy worrying about me. I'm good," I assure him. "Grandma and Grandpa are here. You probably know that already. I bet you could hear Grandma ranting at the nurses all the way from radiology!"

"Nuh-huh. What about?"

"Never mind. It's nothing important. Steve's got it covered. Kono's out there too." I gingerly lift Dad's hand to my lips and kiss his exposed fingers. "So I met a boy today."

Grandma is not the only one who can change the subject. I babble on for several minutes about the new kid from Texas. He's tall. Blonde. Has an accent. When that subject is exhausted, I recap the two tests I'd taken at school the day before.

"You couldn't have gotten me out of third period? I mean if you're going to have a big old accident and disrupt my day couldn't you have timed it for AP English? That T.S. Eliot essay nearly killed me! If my grade tanks in that class, it brings down my GPA. If I don't get into college, it's gonna all be your fault."

"Nope. Told you to study," he reminds me with a smile.

Tears well up and my ridiculous narration is brought to a dead stop.

"Yeah." All the horrible things I yelled at him the other night echo anew. The force of the slammed bedroom door shakes my shoulders. "About that..."

"Stop it," he says with the I-will-brook-no-nonsense tone. "It's done. Forgiven."

"But – "

"But nothin'. Just do your work."

Nodding, I wipe my suddenly runny nose on the sleeve of my t-shirt.

"So, when are you going to see this Jake person?"

"I don't know." Blushing furiously, I stammer, "I'm sure he'll text me."

"Make sure you bring him by the house to meet Steve."

"Yes, sir."

The charge nurse breezes in to check Dad's vital signs. I've been here longer than the doctors allow, she informs me.

"K, I'm gonna go. Love you, Danno."

"T'heaven and back, Monkey."

Sitting up in the chair I notice my grandmother has been watching us from the other side of the glass. Muted and unmoving for the moment I see her clearly. She is not scary larger-than-life but small and scared just like the rest of us. This grandmother I can understand. The bossy, judgmental version pisses me off.

Depending on which one shows up at the house later, it could be an interesting visit.

* * *

Thanks to DancingPhoenix and AriadneF for their feedback and beta read. Anything amiss is mine. I am forever dinking with things after its been read and re-read.

No explanations for the three week wait between posts except the usual "real life" getting in the way. I do try for weekly updates but obviously it didn't work out that way this time. I am in this story for the long haul. Feel free to prod me if I delay too long again. I appreciate comments and suggestions. Reviews are wonderful. Even if you didn't like it! Because I learn from your comments.

Thank you all for reading.

Jennifer "Chet Gecko"


	6. Chapter 6

Welcome to all the new folks joining the party with various alerts about my story. I'd love to see some more reviews too if anyone is so inclined. Comments especially about where Grace has been and where as a reader you imagine she is going... I wonder if what I have in my head is what you're getting from this thing. ~ Jenn

And grateful thanks to Lilz54 and AriadneF for proof-reading and other beta greatness. Usual disclaimer about remaining mistakes or owning H50 etc.

* * *

The beginning of love is to let whom we love be perfectly themselves,

and not to twist them to fit our own image.

Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.

~ Thomas Merton.

**The State of Grace – Chapter six**

The smell of frying bacon is the best alarm clock in the world; second only to the aroma of freshly brewing coffee.

The familiar sounds and smells of Sunday morning breakfast dance in my head like Christmas sugarplums as I burrow deeper into my sheets and pillows and resist the awakening pull of a new day. I remember back to a time when Danno would burst into my bedroom with a cheerful shout, "Get outta bed, ya daisy-head!"

The rap at my door this morning is Steve, "Wanna go for our run before breakfast?"

It isn't really a question. He is gone before I even clear my throat to reply so I just roll out of bed, pull on trainers, shorts and a tank and head downstairs. Grandma is the one fussing in the kitchen. How does she do that? Full hair and make-up, stockings and heels, in 63% humidity, before 8 a.m.

"Good morning, Gracie."

"Mornin' Grandma" I lean in to deliver the perfunctory kiss on her cheek.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?" She reaches up to run a hand over my sleep tousled hair. "Isn't it time to hop in the shower and get dressed? You did find something appropriate to wear."

Here we go again.

"Mass starts at 10:00" Steve interrupts amiably, "We'll be ready to leave by 9:30. Grace and I've got time for a run." He brushes me aside and, with a wink and a grin, snatches a piece of bacon cooling on the folded paper towel next to the stove.

"We? Oh, you're coming with us. I didn't think you ..."

"Yes, ma'am, I am. Wouldn't miss it. And thanks for cooking." He turns his public relations smile on my sputtering Grandmother, pulling her into a tight, side-arm hug and plants a kiss on the top of her head "Family meals are Danny's domain around here. Something he learned from you, I'd wager. It smells delicious."

He is killing her with kindness. Seems like a waste of time to me. Plus he's trying too hard. I grab the other arm and drag him out the kitchen door.

"Let's go, Dad."

We head up the street and wind a bit through the neighborhood before hitting the main road, the third right past the stop sign curves down the beach and we follow that back to the house about three miles. Same route every weekend since I was 12. He no longer needs to distract me with Menehune folk tales to stave off whining about being tired. Nor does he launch into his off key imitation of Bing Crosby singing Mele Kalikimaka as we reach the dark red and green poinsettia hedge at the end of the next block though I hear it in my head anyway. The beauty of this place never gets old, the yellow and white plumeria blossoms in another neighbor's yard perfume the whole block like it's Hilo Hatties full of tourists. The constant white-noise of waves caressing the beach and the lightly salty-mossy-fishy smell coming off the ocean I barely notice anymore but would miss if they were gone. There's a squall approaching not far out into the ocean. It's so humid I'm ready for it to rain.

I'm a little surprised when he takes the short cut through the neighbor's alley, skipping the longest segment of our run and slows to a walk on the beach.

"So, what're you up to?" He always cuts to the chase.

"What?" I shrug, putting on my innocent face though I know very well what.

"Now I'm Dad?" He flashes a mostly tolerant, slightly bemused, raised eye-brow face at me sidelong without breaking stride.

"Just 'cause our DNA doesn't match doesn't mean you're not one of my parents."

"Don't be a smartass, Grace. You've never called me that. You're antagonizing your Grandmother."

"Yeah, so what if I am? She deserves to be riled up a little. What about you? What's with the huggy-huggy, suck-up act you're putting on?"

"It's called detente."

"Why? There's no 'easing of tensions' from what I can see." Just this side of incredulous I punctuate my retort with air quotes. "And don't look so surprised that I know what the word means. Did you catch her crack just now about my clothes for church? Nothing has changed since last time they visited."

"It wasn't a crack, exactly. Meddling is her love language."

"Why are you defending her? After the way she treated you at the hospital? Were you listening? She practically came out and said you're not real family. Pisses me off. I want to slap her."

"Grace! Stop it." He grabs hold of my upper arm for emphasis, "Of course we're family. Doesn't matter whether or not your grandparents or the rest of the world believes it. Does not make it any less true. I couldn't love you more if you were my own flesh and blood." Releasing his grip he continues "That's not what I'm getting at anyway. Grace, have you ever heard your father be disrespectful of his parents?"

"No." Avoiding his gaze, I kneel down to the sand and tighten my shoe laces.

"No. Then I won't hear of you disrespecting them either. I'm not asking you to pretend to agree with your Grandmother about your clothes or gay rights or anything. They are your grandparents and guests in our home. Please be polite and civil."

"Yes, sir. But -" I protest, "she is such a bitch!" and cringe a little inside because I am starting to sound lame even to my own ears.

"But nothing. I know she's difficult. I expect you to behave like an adult. Danno would too."

I take a few deep breaths and pace away from him to clear my head as it starts to rain. "Ok, nevermind. I got it. Polite and civil. No fashion comments. No gay jokes."

"We good then?"

"Yeah, sure, we're good."

"Let's get moving. Breakfast is probably ready. Being late for church would really tick her off. "

Grandpa meets us on the porch with rental car keys, golf umbrella and commuter coffee mug in hand "I'm heading to the hospital to spend some time with Daniel while you all are at church."

Halfway down the driveway he turns to add, "Just so you know, I had a chat with Mother about her behavior yesterday. Being rude to Grace. Giving you the cold shoulder. Not makin' excuses for her, but she's just really worried about her baby. A parents worst nightmare having one of the kids hurt like this. Always thought it might happen from something work related not an idiot driver. Anyway, she means well. None of us are at our best under stress. I know she thinks the world of Grace. And, Steve, she'll get used to you and Dan. Together...eventually. Just be patient."

"I understand," replies Steve, "Thank you, sir."

Back in the kitchen Grandma loads Steve's plate with the bacon, egg and cheese breakfast casserole. Under cover of his effusive praise of her culinary genius I quietly scoop fresh fruit into a small bowl with a dollop of Greek yogurt and scamper up the stairs, out of range and into the shower, thereby avoiding an argument with either of them about not eating meat.

Forty minutes later we're not late but we are not exactly early as we slide into a pew halfway down the aisle on the right at St. Mary Immaculate Parish.

Kneel.

Genuflect.

Ma ka Inoa o ka makua, a o ke Keiki, a me ke 'Uhane Hemolele. Amene.

The order of worship in the missal is straightforward, even the parts translated into Hawaiian are easy to follow. Black type-face on a bright yellow paper cover gives it a _Liturgy for Dummies_ look_._ The whole church thing is a foreign language to me. I understand some words and phrases here or there but not enough to catch any meaning or hold a conversation. I make an effort to pay attention during the homily but give in and let my mind wander when Grandma goes forward for Holy Communion.

It's just the two of us left in the pew. The angular middle-aged woman at the piano is joined by two kids I recognize from Kukui with acoustic guitars playing a soft, nondescript tune that is meant to be contemplative. I lean over to whisper a comment about church providing soundtrack music while the service is on "hold" but Steve is praying? He's hunched over, elbows on knees, head bowed, fingering something in his hands, murmuring under his breath.

Aloha oe, e Maria, ua piha oe i ka maikai;  
ua noho pu ka Haku me oe;  
pomaikai oe iwaena o na wahine...

That part is not even on the page.

Huh.

"Didn't realize you were Catholic." Grandma comments without preamble when Mass is over and we make our way down the center aisle.

"I'm not. I was raised Methodist."

"You carry a rosary."

"It's Danny's."

"But you know the prayers. In Hawaiian. From memory."

"Yes, ma'am, I do." Steve replies insufficiently.

Any further explanation is cut off by the approach of a paunchy, silver haired man in priestly vestments. "Hey Steve-o! Did I miss the apocalypse? What's happened that you're darkening my parish door, Brah?"

"Richard! Good to see you too." Steve's grin fills his face and lights up his eyes. "Father Kupo, this is Mrs. Williams, Danny's mother."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Williams."

"How do you do, Father." replies Grandma, politely shaking the priest's outstretched hand.

Steve explains to Grandma and me that Father Kupo - Richard - was chaplain for his unit in the Navy during his first tour of duty overseas.

"Afghanistan?" I interject, trying to sound knowledgeable and not at all like the apparent depth of my Dad's faith and the emergence of Steve's latent Catholicism came as a complete surprise.

"Earlier, honey. Iraq. '03." he responds absently, turning back to the priest, "Danny was in that accident on Friday, near the Palace. His parents flew in from New Jersey to be with us."

"I heard about it on the news. Didn't realize that was D. Wow. How's he doin'?"

"Not so good. He's in ICU at Queen's."

"I'll head over to check on him tomorrow if you don't mind."

"Thanks, that'd be nice. He'd like that."

My grandmother is nods _approvingly_ at Steve and has wrapped an arm about his waist as they continue talking with Father Kupo. I am so distracted I miss the content of the rest of the conversation. I can't tell if my greatest ally has been taken hostage by the enemy or has in fact defected willingly to the other side.

It doesn't make sense. I can't process this right now. My head hurts and I'm starting to hyperventilate.

Saved by the buzz of a text message from Jake, Texas Judo boy.

"Steve, drop me off at Waiola Shave Ice wouldya? I want to meet a friend. I'll take the bus home from there."

"We were going to the hospital."

"Yeah, I know. Can just you and Grandma go? Give Dad my love and let me catch up with you in a few hours."

"You ok, Monkey?" He turns his full attention to me with the look that lets me know at that moment I'm his whole world.

"I'm fine, Steve." We do our silent communication thing for a moment until he believes me or decides to let it go for now.

"Ok, sure." He kisses my forehead and envelopes me in a hug. "Usual parental caveats apply."

"Duly noted."

Rainbow shave ice and playing tour guide sound like an adequate distraction from this crazy life.


End file.
